Digestive complaints.

Just so you know, I don't have anything personal against Gastroenterologists. I'm not a fan of Republican Gastroenterologists, but honestly, that's got nothing to do with them being Gastroenterologists.

I recognize they do a job I absolutely couldn't do, like dentists, school bus drivers, and coal miners. But I have to think that, because of how they physically deal with people, they're not people people, and so they have no idea how to manage an office. And thus, every interaction I’ve had with a Gastroenterologist’s clinic over the past 10 years has had me come away wondering which one of us is in possession of the most irritating asshole.

And yes, I know I sound unreasonable. And yes, in fact, I probably am being unreasonable. Because I have noticed that in this current climate of bulimic billionaire political clownfuckery that periodically my patience (and the patience of all sane individuals around me) grows a little thin.

So I have been working on learning to give a free pass to all those around me. When stressed, none of us are capable of being on our best behavior, and nobody can always be guaranteed of saying the perfect thing. I've even learned to give myself a bit more of a pass: So what if I get stuff wrong? I’m only human, aren’t I?

I haven’t completely lost my compassionate marbles though. There’s no free pass for certain multi-billionaires, obviously. Because frankly, if you easily have enough money to solve world hunger, and every morning you wake up, you don't, then, in terms of humanity, you're a greater hemorrhoid than those that grace the medical textbooks of generations of Gastroenterologists.

However, I have taken note that this week, my ‘kind to all living creatures’ attitude has not been firing on all cylinders.

For example, the other morning I had an argument with our rabbit. That’s right, I said I got into an argument with an actual rabbit.

You see, we rescued Grendel last winter, and overnight his hutch comes and sits inside by the patio doors. Also, as we live in coyote and raccoon territory, Grendel’s permanent outside home has to be critter-proof.

Mark is currently building a permanent setup for Grendel in the backyard that will give him more space. As to how this ‘Hoppywood’ is going to look, I can't tell you. But I do know that when I looked out the window and saw an 8-foot-tall wood and wire structure, I decided not to ask. Like I say, everyone is doing their best.

Anyhows, first thing in the morning when I get up, I head to the kitchen to make tea. (Yes, that’s right, I am Scottish and I bloody love tea.) On the way to the kettle, I pass by the hutch and open the patio doors to let Arthur out for his morning constitutional. After switching the kettle on and putting a tea bag in a cup, I head to the refrigerator and pull out Arthur’s food, and a couple of lettuce leaves for Grendel.

Then I spoon Arthur’s food into his bowl - which often, timing-wise, conveniently coincides with Arthur returning from the backyard. And after that, I open the hutch and give Grendel the lettuce.

By then, usually, the kettle has boiled and I make a cup of tea and the world is a brighter place. It’s a system we have down, and has worked just fine since last November.

But of late, Grendel has decided that this is the wrong way round, and as soon as his giant ears hear the shuffle of my feet along the hallway, he starts thumping on the floor of his hutch for the lettuce, or banging his paws on the wires of his cage. I have mostly ignored it, for Arthur’s sake.

Arthur is part terrier and in the civilized part of his tiny brain he sees the rabbit as another inhabitant of Tweddley Manor. But his terrier instinct also sees Grendel as something he’d probably enjoy ripping apart. We have had to have words.

Grendel likewise, has viewed Arthur in a way that's made me wonder if he could also be part terrier. At times the rabbit versus dog atmosphere has been intense, and I have to say, in a battle between dog and rabbit, I’m pretty sure that in this case, the rabbit would win. Anyway, I have clearly told them both that this is a time in history when we need to be kinder to each other, and I can confidently say neither of them understood one single word.

In our steps for Grendel to be an outside rabbit, during the day we've been moving him to a small enclosure we have in the backyard we usually use for renegade chickens, or when we’ve hatched some chicks and they’re not ready to go in with the coop. It’s a fairly decent size, and he can run around or sit and observe the world, and plot global domination.

Generally this is after he’s had breakfast, and I’ve had at least my second cup of tea. But because he’s been more demanding of late, I’ve been putting him out in the little enclosure sometimes before the second cup of tea is made.

Which is what I tried to do on that particular morning.

A point of note: lifting a rabbit to take him outside involves some modicum of cooperation from the rabbit. This is a concept Grendel has still yet to master.

So I reached into the hutch and Grendel thumped on the floor and ran off. So I opened the other door and he reached out one lucky rabbit paw to scratch me. Then I was pissed off and I pushed some of his straw over at him to show my frustration.

Grendel was surprised at my audacity. Astonished in fact. So, obviously, that made me do it again.

But then Grendel, with no small effort pushed a pile of straw back at me. And so then, obviously, I couldn’t lose face, so I pushed straw back at him and this went on a couple more times till I realised the situation felt a little weird.

So I closed the door to the hutch and was in fact pouring my second cup of tea when the hutch started thumping along the floor, and I turned to see the rabbit pounding his paws against the wire as like they were bars on a prison cell.

Not one to back down, I went straight to the hutch, and opened the door ready for whatever he had in store. To my surprise, Grendel sat there like the adorable little fluffy creature he had been when we’d rescued him all the way back in November, waiting patiently for me to pick him up. And when I did, he snuggled into my neck for a cuddle. Clearly, in rabbit land, I had earned his respect.

I took him out to the enclosure, where he jumped in and started digging with apparent glee. I did spot Mark working on Hoppywood in a different part of the yard, but noticing the size of the construction, I (wisely) chose to say not one word.

Feeling pretty good at my apparent win, I was buoyed on to do a couple of phone calls I’ve been putting off.

I have some medical stuff to follow up on. It’s nothing major but it has to be attended to. And one of the things that sucks about being an adult, is that you have to do responsible stuff. My Dad died of esophageal cancer. My kids would like me not to do the same.

I don't like this doctor’s office much, but my health insurance love him and I have no idea why. They don’t answer your calls, they don’t return calls, and they don’t care if they make you mad. I’ve been trying to get in touch with this doctor for ages, but trying to get them to pick up the phone is like trying to connect with Harry Houdini at a seance.

Instead the caller is put on hold and forced to listen to fucking awful plinky plonky music on a loop, interrupted periodically by some recorded female voice asking if I’ve ever thought about colon cancer.

I’ve called this doctor twice in the past couple of weeks, and each time hung up after 10 minutes of plinky plonkiness. After my victory with Grendel though, I decided this time, no matter what, I was going to succeed.

At 9 minutes and 45 seconds, I admit I was faltering. But then, a miracle. An actual human voice picks up. I was thrilled.

Hello? Hello?

Over effusively perhaps, I told him how glad I was to be able to get through. I told him about the appointment I needed to have. One, in fact, his very office had advised me to have without delay. He was silent for so long afterwards I thought I had lost connection, but I think he might have just been off having a sandwich or something. Then he told me that no matter what they’d said before and no matter what my documents said, I’d need to have a consultation first. It was the only way to pass go.

I thought about my “radical kindness’ mantra and told him I understood, and he offered me a telehealth appointment for the end of April. I thought about objecting, but then I remembered how I’m trying to be a better version of myself.

He asks if I have an authorization from my health insurance. I do. Cheerfully, I ask him if he wants the number. He says no. He says he’ll check his files. He says he’ll call back if there’s any problems. And then my heart sinks. Because I just know. I just know.

20 minutes later, he calls back. Because of course there is a problem

He can’t find the authorization. I tell him I can give him the number. He tells me doesn’t need the number but an actual copy of the authorization. “Ok,” I say. “So shall I take a photograph?“ No,” he says, “That won’t do. Do you just have a fax machine at home?”

So I am in the kitchen making myself a consolatory third cup of tea when Lachlan appears.

“You ok?” he asks.

“Mmmf. I would stay out of my way if I were you. Seems I’m a bit argumentative today.”

“Who have you argued with?” he asks.

“Well first off with the rabbit. We had a whole pushing-straw thing that I don’t want to even get into. And then I just had an argument with the guy at the Gastroenterologist’s who wanted me to fax him something.”

Lachlan choked with laughter.

“I know. I’m a jerk,” I said. “I can't believe I argued with the rabbit either.”

“Everybody argues with that rabbit.” Lachan said, “It’s Grendel's way of saying hello. But some guy asked if you had a fax machine? That is hilarious. I mean, I’d heard about a fax machine in the Lego Batman movie, but I’d no idea people actually ever used them. I mean, is that even real?”

I nodded feeling simultaneously ancient but also strangely vindicated.

“So, what are you going to do?” Lachlan asked.

I sighed. “Find myself another Gastroenterologist, I suppose.”

“Bummer,’ he said and then laughed. “Sorry. “

I shrugged.

“Well,” he said, “I'm not looking forward to when I’m ancient and have to deal with Gastroenterologists. Though maybe when I do, they might have advanced their technology to something crazy like email. Or jeez, text. Lucky you didn’t get through to them last week because they’d probably want you to send them something in hieroglyphics.”

I laughed, as did he, and then he headed off to message his friends on Discord.

Mark appeared from the backyard. “Are you making tea?” he said. “I think I might have overdone it on Hoppywood.”

I smiled. And nodded. “It's all cool.” I said, “We’re all just doing our best.”

And to be honest, even in my most argumentative state, I think we all kind of are.

Lynn

Xo

PS: Every time you click on the wee heart emoji, a gastroenterologist gets a colonoscopy. Obviously that’s not true, but wouldn’t it be kind of good if it was?

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Digestive complaints - Audio